Fixing To Die

CHAPTER 32

“Did Nathan tell you himself he intended to tear the house down?” An’gel asked.

“No, he didn’t,” Mary Turner said, her voice catching on a sob. “But it sounds like something he would do.”

“I think Serenity is grossly exaggerating the situation, simply because she wants to upset you as much as possible, my dear,” An’gel said.

“Exaggerating? How?” Mary Turner asked, a note of hope in her voice.

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you,” An’gel said.

“All right.” Mary Turner opened the door, and An’gel followed her into the kitchen. Marcelline was nowhere in sight.

“Now have a seat and let’s talk for a minute. I think I can set your fears to rest.” An’gel glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until her appointment with Alesha Jackson.

Once they were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, An’gel explained. “This house is on the National Register of Historic Places, and it’s also recognized as a Mississippi landmark. The state historical commission that oversees landmarks would have to meet and agree that the property could be demolished. Frankly, I doubt they would agree to let this house be torn down. Then there’s the issue of whether Serenity will inherit the right to control the mortgage. By the time the will gets sorted out, if Nathan left one, you will be able to catch up on your mortgage payments.”

Mary Turner’s face had brightened the longer An’gel talked, but at An’gel’s last sentence, her face fell again.

“I’ll never be able to catch up,” Mary Turner said. “Business is always pretty slow after the first of the year, until people start reserving rooms for the pilgrimage.”

“I imagine I can help you find a way to catch up,” An’gel said. She and Dickce would have to see how badly in arrears the mortgage was, of course, before making a final decision, but somehow they would see to it that Mary Turner didn’t lose her historic home. An’gel knew she could speak for her sister on this. They couldn’t let their old friend’s granddaughter down.

Mary Turner smiled through her tears. “Miss An’gel, you truly are an angel. I don’t know how I’d ever repay you, but I’ll find a way if you can help me keep my home.”

“Stop fretting about it.” An’gel checked her watch again. Time to meet Alesha Jackson. “You’ll have to excuse me, my dear. I have that appointment to talk to Alesha Jackson. We’ll talk more later about your situation.”

“Thank you again,” Mary Turner said. “I can’t wait to tell Marcelline the news. She was as devastated as I was after Nathan dropped his bombshell last night.”

An’gel nodded as she rose. “See you later.”

During the brief walk to the parlor, An’gel thought about the implications of Nathan Gamble’s bombshell and Mary Turner’s parting words just now. Marcelline, of course, would have been devastated at the thought of losing her home of the last half century or more. She was a forceful woman in her way. What might she do to protect Mary Turner and Cliffwood? Would she resort to murder?

On that disturbing thought, An’gel walked into the parlor, where she found Alesha Jackson again admiring the mantel. She turned at An’gel’s approach and nodded to acknowledge her.

An’gel indicated one of the sofas. “Won’t you have a seat, Ms. Jackson? We might as well be comfortable while we talk.”

“All right.” The erstwhile medium chose a spot at one end of the sofa and rested her right arm along its arm. She gazed expectantly at An’gel.

Having taken a seat on the sofa opposite Alesha Jackson, An’gel regarded the woman for a moment. She still hadn’t figured out exactly what tack would get her the information she wanted. Might as well start with the business at Riverhill and see how she reacts to that, she decided.

“My sister and I live in an antebellum house that dates from the 1830s,” An’gel said. “Six generations of our family have lived there. Some also have died there over the years.”

“Not unusual in a house of that age,” Alesha replied.

“Not at all,” An’gel said. “Over the years, my sister and I have observed odd things that we could never quite explain. Not things that happen frequently, or if they do happen frequently, we’ve not noticed. They are more random, I think, but I haven’t made a study of them, nor has my sister.”

“What kind of odd things?” Alesha asked.

An’gel shrugged. “Mostly an occasional cold spot in a room, sometimes an object is in a different place or position. A door closing on its own.” As she spoke the last words, she fought the urge to turn and look at the parlor door at her back.

“Who lives in the house?” Alesha asked.

“Only my sister and I,” An’gel said. “We have a housekeeper who comes daily through the week, but she has always lived in her own home, with her family.”

“What about the young man—Benjy, isn’t it?—and the two animals?”

“Benjy is a recent addition to the family,” An’gel said. “As are Peanut and Endora. Benjy has his own apartment in a remodeled outbuilding behind the house, and the animals generally spend the nights with him. All three of them are in and out of the house every day, though.”

“How long has your housekeeper been with you?” Alesha asked.

“Nearly fifty years,” An’gel said.

“How long have these odd things been happening? Or rather, when did you first start noticing them?”

“As long as I can remember,” An’gel said truthfully. As a child, she hadn’t thought much about things. Neither she nor Dickce ever talked to their mother about them, although they did talk to each other. Neither of them had ever really felt frightened.

“Have these incidents been malicious in any way?” Alesha asked.

“Not that I can recall,” An’gel said. “Neither my sister nor I have ever felt threatened or truly frightened.”

“It sounds like this activity really doesn’t bother you,” Alesha said. “What is it you want me to do?”

“You said that you can communicate with spirits,” An’gel said. “We’re curious to know who this spirit was. Dickce thinks it’s our paternal grandmother, but I’m not sure. She was a cranky old lady and not very nice to children.”

An’gel hadn’t really meant to go into this much detail with the psychic but somehow she found herself telling the woman all these things. Perhaps the spirit’s activities had been weighing on her mind more than she realized. This was distracting her from the real purpose of this interview, however, and she needed to redirect the conversation soon.

“I could come and attempt to communicate with this spirit,” Alesha Jackson said. “I would have to stay in the house, and I can’t say up front how long it might take. So much depends on the willingness of the spirit to communicate.”

“I understand,” An’gel said, interested despite her determination to move on to other subjects. “What is your fee?”

“Room and board, and five thousand dollars for up to a week. If it takes longer, then it’s twenty-five hundred a week after that.”

An’gel was taken aback. Alesha Jackson had quoted Mary Turner a much lower price. For hourly work, however, it was far less than a lawyer’s fee, An’gel realized after a little mental arithmetic. Then she had to remind herself that the woman was most likely a con artist. An’gel wasn’t about to pay Alesha Jackson a nickel for her services, much less five thousand dollars plus.

“I’ve been wondering about any references you might have,” An’gel said. “Benjy is talented when it comes to finding out things online, and he did a little research on Primrose Pace’s activities.” She deliberately used the pseudonym rather than the woman’s real name.

Alesha Jackson tensed slightly, An’gel noticed. Her gaze, however, remained bland. “I know there are two or three things online that are pretty easy to find. About work I’ve done in missing persons cases in Louisiana.”

“Yes,” An’gel said. “I suppose it was through communicating with the spirits of the dead in these cases that led you to the vicinity of where they’d been buried.”

“To put it simply, yes, though the situations were all much more complicated than that,” Alesha said.

An’gel wondered if Alesha really was Primrose Pace, or had she taken the other woman’s identity temporarily for purposes of her own. She realized that Alesha Jackson was intelligent and wouldn’t be easily trapped into betraying herself. The police would have to sort out the question of Primrose Pace.

Time to push harder, An’gel thought.

“I found out something else about you, Ms. Jackson,” An’gel said. “Marcelline told me that your grandmother once worked here. For Mary Turner’s grandmother, to be exact.”

“Yes, my grandmother told me about that. It was a long time ago.” Alesha’s eyes narrowed briefly as she returned An’gel’s gaze.

“I wondered if that had anything to do with your coming here,” An’gel said. “I’m sure there are other houses with spirits you could communicate with. How did you really happen to choose this one?”

Alesha did not reply right away. Instead she stared at An’gel for a long moment. An’gel figured the woman might get up and walk out, but then Alesha surprised her by speaking.

“Curiosity,” Alesha said. “My grandmother didn’t work here long, but she encountered the spirit that is in this house while she worked here. I got my abilities from my grandmother, you see. I was at loose ends, and I thought I might come here and see if I could communicate with the spirit. She never would talk to my grandmother.”

“Interesting,” An’gel said. If it’s all true, she added to herself. “Is your grandmother still living?”

“Yes,” Alesha said. “She’s in poor health, but she’s still with us, praise His mercy.”

“I understand, however, that you recently lost your father,” An’gel said. “You have my sympathies on your loss.”

“How did . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Online, of course, because there have been articles about the accident.” Alesha looked disgusted. “Benjy found all that out for you. What business is it of yours? Why are you so interested in my life and my family’s lives?”

“Because a man was murdered in this house,” An’gel said simply and waited for a reaction.

“So?” Alesha responded. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“The murdered man owned the company your father worked for at the time of his death,” An’gel said. “The company your mother has been considering bringing a lawsuit against. For wrongful death, I imagine.”

“You think I killed him because he was responsible for my father’s death?” Alesha asked.

“I think it’s possible,” An’gel said. “It’s a powerful motive, don’t you think? Perhaps you thought that, with Nathan out of the way, it would be easier for your family to get his company to make a settlement of some sort. I’m sure that will occur to the police.”

Alesha stared at An’gel, her expression now one of hatred. “You have a filthy mind, old woman.”

“That may be,” An’gel replied, refusing to let the other woman rattle her. “I can’t abide murder, you see, and I can’t stand the thought of a killer getting away with it.”

“So you think you’re going to try to pin this on me? You think that arrogant policeman is going to take your word for it?” Alesha laughed.

“He might,” An’gel said. “I know he’ll be interested when he finds out about your connection to the deceased, if he hasn’t already.” She paused briefly. “Especially when he finds out it was your own cousin you might have murdered.”